The conscience stricken thief: Did Saint Padre Pio have a hand? by Elena S. Quiogue, PhD

(Editor’s Note: The author has given space for her aunt, Elena Sarmiento Quiogue, to narrate the personal experience she had with Saint Padre Pio some years back. Mrs. Quiogue was a supervising scientist at the Food and Nutrition Research Center under the Department of Science and Technology before she retired.)

What unfolds in this narrative, a stunning incident deeply etched in my memory over the years, argued strongly so. To the reader with only the faintest echo of Padre Pio’s name ringing in his or her ears, the much-celebrated priest from Pietrelcina in Foggia, Italy (who passed away in 1968 and was canonized by Pope John Paul II on June 16, 2002) was a living saint to his devotees in his lifetime. Such was the reverence accorded him by the clergy, from the lowest to the highest ranks, including the Holy Father Pope John Paul II himself and the lay apostolate in general. This is due, undoubtedly, to widely reported miraculous cures and other saintly actions attributed to him far and wide. I, personally, had been aware for sometime from media reports of these extraordinary happenings that it became an obsession with me to visit him should I, by some fortunate circumstances, find myself in his part of the world one day.

WHO Fellow at Queen Elizabeth College in London, England

Beyond my wildest fantasies that chance came 38 years ago while I was a graduate student as WHO (World Health Organization) Fellow at Queen Elizabeth College in London, England in 1963-1964. During my stint there, I was invited to attend a Nutrition Conference (Food Consumption Survey) at FAO (Food Agriculture Organization) Headquarters in Rome, Italy for two weeks in April 1964, after which I was to return to London to resume my studies. But, though thus occupied, my interest in, and focus on, Padre Pio’s widening fame were heightened further when I learned from credible media sources that his five fresh bleeding wounds were in the same body parts as were those of our Lord Jesus Christ at His Crucifixion. "Could that be mere coincidence?" I recall asking myself anxious for an answer.

By some lucky streak, a friend of mine working at FAO headquarters in Rome, equally anxious as I was to travel to Foggia, Italy to visit Padre Pio, invited me to accompany her on a planned trip, which I enthusiastically agreed to. It was to prove a fateful fulfillment of a deeply cherished wish.

After a three to four-hour travel by train from Rome, my friend and I spent the night at a private "Pensione" in Pietrelcina, Foggia so as to be at the church door by 5 a.m. the next morning. We found ourselves in a frantic race to the altar with a large group of men and women devotees as soon as the church door opened. Everyone instinctively wanted to be as close as possible to the altar where Padre Pio invariably said the first mass each morning. Though in subdued chat, each one hoped to experience what other pilgrims had spoken of: that one does feel celestial bliss while hearing Padre Pio say Mass.

Attending Padre Pio’s 5 a.m. Mass

Saint Padre Pio entered the altar from a side door by the Sacristy and all turned quiet and solemn after the door opened and Padre Pio passed through. A deep sigh of relief swept through the mass of assembled pilgrims. The bandaged hands of Padre Pio could be seen just below his long sleeves and from the way he walked (slightly limping), it was easy to see that his bandaged feet were not fitted with the most comfortable sandals. This was apparently how his stigmatized pairs of bleeding hands and feet were cared for during some 30 years of his lifetime. There was no way, it appeared, that even the most competent doctors from around the world could find the right treatment for his bleeding wounds. Such a predicament was to be patiently endured by Padre Pio to his dying day in 1968, four days after our visit.

It was a specially blissful moment for us when we received Holy Communion and blessing from Padre Pio – an experience not soon to be forgotten. The good priest dutifully attended to his daily chores after saying Mass, weaving through long lines of pilgrims, mostly sick people hoping for healing through his blessing. Visitors of various nationalities seek nothing more than experiencing Padre Pio’s physical presence. Repentant sinners plead for forgiveness and blessings. Curious visitors like us, seek favors through Padre Pio’s intercession.

On reflection, I did not, as a lay person think anything out of the ordinary had transpired at all that day. Neither was I disappointed that some hoped for miraculous happening (like some sudden outburst from a blind person claiming restored sight or a lame one getting rid of his crutches and suddenly being able to walk normally) did not materialize. Far from it, but it was celestial joy, pure and simple that we felt as we left the church, immediately glad to have been so closely in touch with a near-saint. It was as though we had been amongst crowds gathered around the person of our Lord Jesus Christ Himself during His sojourn here on earth.

Losing my wallet

I returned to London shortly thereafter to resume my studies. The first thing I did on getting there was shop for food provisions at a supermarket on High Street, Kensington, two blocks from where I then resided. While reaching for my wallet, tucked in my bag, to pay for my purchases, I noticed that the bag was half-opened and my wallet was gone. "Oh my God! Had I carelessly misplaced my wallet or had it been lifted? What was I to do?" As a WHO Fellow, I relied entirely for school and living expenses on a modest monthly stipend of about US$280. Deeply distressed by my predicament, I left the store and headed for home without the needed food provisions, sobbing bitterly when I got there, giving vent to my feelings, admonishing, even laying blame on Padre Pio for my misfortune – a foreign student with no family around to see me through it or resources other than a modest monthly stipend.

"Why me?" I asked Padre Pio. "Did I go to Foggia to pay you homage only to be robbed?" I recall furiously beating the windowsill with my closed fist, but while in that mindless rage, a friend knocked on my door and as I let her in, she quickly sensed that I was deeply troubled and asked me what had happened. "Did somebody die?" she asked. I had calmed down somewhat and told her what had brought it on. She readily understood, comforted me the best way she could and, dear friend that she was, she generously offered replacement funds to see me through till my next stipend came. Most welcome relief, indeed, and an excuse to celebrate, so my friend and I spend the weekend sightseeing, a planned activity for sometime.

His conscience pricked him

One evening, a few days later, my phone rang. It was an officer from the Police Department at the other end. "Why, what have I done?" I nervously asked. The officer then asked if I had lost anything lately. I said I had. He told me that a middle-aged man was at his office that moment and had confessed to stealing my wallet while I was in a supermarket and spent what money was in it. He found my ID in the wallet and had confessed to the officer that, "he could not sleep, could not eat, could not work at his job and could not do anything at all because his conscience was bothering him". This was why he decided to go to the police precinct near his place to confess his guilt.

The thief intended to make restitution, the officer added, promising to pay back the money he had stolen along with the cost of stamps and other wallet contents, including the wallet itself, which he had thrown into a burning pile of trash. All that said, the officer summoned me to the police precinct to read and sign the culprit’s statement for proper filing in Court.

The very next day, a classmate of mine excitedly informed me that I was in one item in the morning paper, the Kensington News. I checked, and sure enough, I was featured in a story about the culprit who was so guilt-stricken after the theft of my wallet. This was entitled, HIS CONSCIENCE PRICKED HIM. A delightful outcome indeed but I deeply pondered who or what could have induced the culprit to do what he did? The Kensington News did not say, but deep in my heart I know very well who did!

The culprit makes amends

In due time the culprit was taken to Court, truly contrite, and was made to pay the court, after due process, one pound a week (US$2.80 to a pound then) over a period of 30 weeks. Luckily for me, a close friend, a resident doctor at a London Hospital managed to do the collection for me. I was already due to leave for my observation/study tours of pre-selected nutrition research agencies/institutions/universities in Europe, USA and Asia as part and in culmination of my studies related to my work at the Food and Nutrition Research Center in Metro Manila. This is now an Institute under the Department of Science and Technology (DOST).

In gratefulness to Saint Padre Pio, I solemnly promised to publicize this story in due time as a testimonial to the lengths to which he, at times, goes to show his understanding and concern for us as God’s children. I realized this even more fully now. But more than this, I know with the fullest confidence and certainty that the Good Lord has a place for Saint Padre Pio close to His bosom among His Holy Angels and Saints. He listens well when petitions from the faithful with pleas for Saint Padre Pio’s intercession are addressed to Him.

I close this testimonial with unbounded thanks to you, Saint Padre Pio, for bending your ears low to patiently hear my supplications (or were they, forgive me, admonitions?) in a moment of deep anguish – even irrational – tantrums over lost items your intercession so speedily retrieved.

(For more information please e-mail at exec@obmontes sori.edu.ph)